you could be my remedy (rewrite)
by disasterologist
Summary: Or Ally is mute and Austin is her therapist. / AustinAlly AU. One-shot.


_**you could be my remedy**_

**summary: Or Ally is mute and Austin is her therapist. / AustinAlly AU. One-shot.**

sorry for the unintended hiatus, guys. i love you a lot. if i don't post a lot, it's cos i'm busy. and when ally describes her music tastes, they're mine.

i don't own anything mentioned in this. (yay, disclaimer xD)

and i'm going to see all time low april 25, so yay :)

i'm proud of this, but it may be triggering. and this is the rewrite, so... yeah.

warning: language. lots of it. don't let your children read this.

- kayleigh

(days til atl's concert yo: 90)

(word count: 2,747)

* * *

::::

_you could be my remedy_

::::

Ally sits in the cold, hard chair, staring blankly at the wall while she waits for her appointment with Dr. Moon. This will be her fourth appointment in a week, and needless to say she's not looking forward to it.

She's heard things about Dr. Moon; not all of them nice.

Inwardly, she's fuming because she doesn't want to be here. She's been to enough therapists in her lifetime.

Some days, she wants to throw something at the whitewashed walls and scream profanities at the so-called "experts." Always, _always_, she tells them, _I have no problem, I'm perfectly sane, I don't need your help_, but they don't believe her.

She doesn't blame them, really. There's not much belief in her crumbling-at-the-seams household.

"Ms. Dawson?" The receptionist asks, her gaze fixated on the stack of papers on her desk. She flips through what seems like endless stacks to Ally, and finally glances up when she realizes that Ally is still sitting in the metal chair in the middle of the waiting room.

"Ms. Dawson? You can go in. Dr. Moon is ready for you. Don't worry, he's very nice. And I'm not just saying that because he's my boss." She laughs, but Ally's gaze remains stony.

She presses the button for the inter-room communication system and whispers, "Mr. Moon?... Ms. Dawson is sitting in the waiting room... Yes, could you come get her?... Alright, thank you."

Ally watches a little boy exit from Dr. Moon's office, looking happy while he holds a lollipop in his hands.

_I remember when I was like that_, Ally thinks, _all happy and cheerful. _

Her gaze slides to the ceiling and her eyes trace the patterns in the paint job. _A worm, a rope, a wire, a bunny on a bicycle..._

"Ally?" A voice asks, but she keeps her eyes to the ceiling and sighs. _Don't look at him. He'll ignore you if you do._

"Ally Dawson?" The same voice asks yet again, and she closes her eyes and places her hands over her ears. _I don't want to see or hear anything related to therapists again. Never again._

Her head is pounding and she's shaking. _Why is this stupid waiting room so cold? Gosh..._

Somebody removes her hands from her ears and gently takes her wrist. "Okay, Ally, it's your turn. Let's go into the office."

She wants to protest, but she can't. Her mouth opens and closes, opens and closes, and her head and throat hurt with the effort involved in trying to speak.

Ally hears a door open, and she's sat down in a chair that's comfy and soft. _Why are the chairs in the waiting room so hard and cold and this one so soft and warm?_

She won't give this stupid therapist the satisfaction, and she refuses to relax, no matter how comfy his chairs are. Her hands clench into fists until her knuckles turn white.

"Ally? Can you open your eyes?" The voice asks, and mentally she replies, _Yes, I can, but I choose not to. I'm not going to talk to you. I don't talk to anybody._

"Ally Dawson, I'm your therapist." _Not for long. _"You're here to talk." _Or so you think._ "So talk." _Not likely. _"At least open your eyes, please?" _Not happening. _"Ally Dawson, I'm here to help." _Being a therapist doesn't count as "helping," you know. I don't talk at all; you really think I'm going to talk to a complete stranger? Are you _stupid_? Were you born yesterday? _"Ally, _please _open your eyes." _Again, not happening. Get over it._

"Will you at least unclench your fists? I feel like you're going to punch me." He says, and there's a pleading note in his voice that makes Ally relax her fist slightly. _Happy now? _

"Open your eyes. Don't you want to know who you're talking to?" The stupid, ridiculously hopeful therapist says. _Not particularly_, Ally thinks. _I doubt you're anything worth looking at._

"You can squint at me if you want. You don't even have to see me clearly." _You're really not presenting me with a convincing case here, Mr. Therapist. You see, if I open my eyes, it shows I trust you. And if I trust you, it will only end badly. Like everything else in my life has._

"It's okay. I understand. You don't have to open them." He says, and Ally's a bit taken aback, if she's being honest. Most therapists don't give in this easily, and when they do, both of them sit in awkward silence for the rest of the session. But this is new to her. A therapist who doesn't force her mouth open, who doesn't cause her to sink deeper and deeper into the quicksand of depression, who actually, genuinely, seems to _care_.

_It's just an act. Why would anyone care about me? My mother hates me, my father hates me, and I have no friends. Even my _cat _is afraid of me._

"I'm not going to force you to do anything. Besides, I'm not the best therapist out there, that's for damn sure." _I hate it when therapists swear. It's informal, and it makes them seem like they're trying to hard to connect with regular "teenagers." Well, news flash: I'm not a regular teenager._

"Ally, could you respond? With a thumbs up, maybe? Thumbs down? I'll even take a twitch." _Ha, ha. I'm practically dying of laughter. You should be a stand-up comedian; you'd be better at that than you are at this._

"Just please open your eyes." _And we're back to the begging. Nice going, Mr. Therapist. I'm charmed._

"Okay, since you obviously aren't going to open your eyes"-_thank you, Captain Obvious_-"let's just get down to business." He says, and Ally presses her eyelids together tighter becausethere's some sort of _thing _in his voice that makes her want to open her eyes.

He proceeds to ask many, many personal questions, and Ally has a very sarcastic, mentally-delivered response for each one.

"Why are you here?" _I don't know, maybe because I don't talk?_

"What do you like to do?" _Wallow in my misery, and the sadness of other people. I also like to go to angsty poetry slams and visit graveyards, often in an attempt to contact the dead. _

"Why are you depressed?" _Well, my fat Aunt Hilda died the other day. Her death is obviously the cause for my depression. It scarred me deeper than I like to admit._

"Why don't you talk?" _Why do you ask so many questions? _

Then he surprises her yet again by saying, "I can tell that you're not getting anything out of this, so maybe a few more sessions will loosen your tongue. Come back here on Wednesday. Same time, same place. Got it?"

_Don't count on it, Mr. Therapist. I'm not coming._

::::

Even though she swore she wouldn't show up, she's back on Wednesday. _Why am I here? I thought I said... Oh, forget it. _

"Well," the stupid therapist says, "I didn't expect to see you back here." _Neither did I, Mr. Therapist. Neither did I._

"So... how have you been these past few days? Mine were pretty uneventful, you know. Boring. Were yours any more exciting?" _I'm a twenty-one-year-old living with severe depression and extreme glossophobia. How do you think I spend my weekends? Partying? Getting high? Yeah, sorry, but I'm not exactly considered popular._

"I'll take that as a no. So, have you talked to anyone yet?" _No duh._ She thinks, and in answer to his question she shakes her head no. _Let's just tease him a little. One response, that's all._

"So you haven't talked to anyone at all since I last saw you?" _Did I not just shake my head? _"I'll take that as a no as well." _There you go. Use your mind._

"Ally, please open your eyes. I want to help you." _Why does he sound so genuine...? Does he _actually _care?_

And, to both of their surprise, her eyes flutter open. She takes in her surroundings. She's in a warm, homey office with posters of bands like All Time Low and Fall Out Boy covering the walls. A small smile blooms on her face. _Okay, so maybe I'm not fond of this therapist, but I do like his office._

Her eyes shift to the man sitting in front of her. He appears to be around twenty-four, with light blonde hair and gorgeous brown eyes. They have an earnest look to them and in the brown of them there's flecks of gold.

"Ally, you opened your eyes." _I can see that. Thank you for pointing out the obvious._

"Will you take the next step? Will you communicate?" He says sarcastically, rising his eyebrows at her while smirking, victorious. _I like his sarcasm, too... he's not that bad-looking either._

She shakes her head to clear herself of her thoughts and also as a no. _You're lucky I opened my eyes. It'll be a miracle if I write one word down on paper._

"Okay, so let me ask you a question. Are you into music?" He asks, the smirk still painting his lips. He gestures to the walls. "All Time Low? Fall Out Boy? Pierce The Veil, even?"

She shakes her head yes and points to the All Time Low, Fall Out Boy, Pierce The Veil, Paramore, and We Are The In Crowd posters. _This is a little weird. A therapist with my music tastes? I'm a little weirded out, I'm not going to lie._

"That's awesome. Favorite song?" He asks, and then passes a piece of paper and a pen across the desk to her.

_Should I do this? _She wonders, and then responds _yes_.

_All Time Low: Stay Awake (Dreams Only Last For A Night), A Love Like War, Hometown Heroes; National Nobodies, Dear Maria, Count Me In  
Fall Out Boy: The Phoenix, Sugar We're Goin Down, This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race, Young Volcanoes  
Pierce The Veil: Besitos, A Match Into Water, Bulls In The Bronx, Disasterology  
Paramore: Brick By Boring Brick  
We Are The In Crowd: Rumor Mill, Kiss Me Again  
And I'm also into Bring Me The Horizon, Crown The Empire, Sleeping With Sirens, My Chemical Romance, Of Mice & Men, Panic! At The Disco, R5, and You Me At Six.  
You?_

She finishes writing and slides the paper over to him. He reads it slowly, nodding with a smile on his face.

"So, you like this song?" He asks, smirking, as the beginnings of "The Phoenix" by Fall Out Boy begin. She nods earnestly. _This is actually pretty cool. He knows my music._

"'Hey young blood, doesn't it feel like our time is running out? I'm gonna change you like a remix, then I'll raise you like a phoenix!'" He sings, and to Ally's surprise he has a nice voice.

_Well, um, it would be a lie to say that I'm not attracted to him now. Oh my god, he has a nice voice and a nice face and good music taste and - stop it, Ally. You can't get attached. Bad things happen when you do. He's just another therapist. Just a therapist with a nice voice and a good music taste and - oh, forget it. I like him._

"So, Ally, I think we need another session. Maybe I'll get you to talk next time. We obviously made some progress. Next Wednesday, same time. You got me?" Austin says, flashing her a smile.

She nods in response. _I'm not talking to him. I'm not talking to this stupid, charming, cute, nice... Oh my god. I'm talking to him. I trust him._

The sinister part of her brain whispers, _you know what happens when you trust people, Ally. Don't do it._

_Fine, _she responds mentally. _I will prolong the wait._

_Or, _the sinister side whispers again, _you can not talk at all. That's what I suggest. But why would you listen to me? It's not like I've been here through the bad times, or that time when your father..._

_Shut up! I won't talk at all! Just don't mention it! _She screams at the sinister side, shaking her head and blocking her ears.

"Hey, Ally? Are you okay?" Austin asks, a concerned look in his eye. She manages to nod, stand up, and walk outside.

But not before waving goodbye.

::::

The next Wednesday session comes and goes. She doesn't talk.

The voice in her head tells her not to.

::::

For the first time, she doesn't attend the session. She couldn't stand it.

She stays at home and slowly carves unsaid words into her wrists.

::::

She doesn't attend the next one, either. She stays at home again and listens to Vic Fuentes say, "Darling, you'll be okay" so many times she can practically say it herself.

Not that she talks.

::::

_Go back, _the voice in her head says. _Don't open your eyes. This is your first session all over again._

So she shows and takes a seat in the faintly familiar chair.

"Ally! I was beginning to worry you wouldn't show." _Well, I'm here with forty new scars. Are you happy?_

"Will you open your eyes?"

She shakes her head no.

"Please, Ally? We were making progress." _Yeah, we were. I'm not talking or opening my eyes. The voice told me not to._

She slips her earbuds into her ears and smiles a little as "Vegas" plays. Before long, she's mouthing the words and tapping her foot to the beat.

Until she realizes something: _oh my god, I'm at the therapist's office. Oh my god. What am I doing?_

_You're hopeless, _the voice in her head spits. _You little bitch. I told you no contact. You nodded your head and now you're enjoying your music. I can always take you back to that day. I can always make it happen again and again. Obey me._

"Ally?"

She doesn't open her eyes or respond or do anything except let silent tears drip down her cheeks as she runs out of the office.

::::

She doesn't attend sessions for months. She just sits at home, slicing and tearing and ripping at the delicate, paper-white skin of her body.

Even Vic Fuentes and his "darling, you'll be okay" can't help her now.

::::

_Good girl. Slice. Cut. Just like that. _The voice in her head says, and she can visualize its sick smile as she tears her skin apart.

There's a knock on the door. "Ally?"

She knows that voice.

_Godfuckingdammit, it's that bitch therapist. Jesus. _The voice says. _Don't answer it. He doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is me._

So she doesn't.

::::

The next few days become a cacophony of ugly sounds: slice, tear, rip, knock, cry. Slice, tear, rip, knock, cry.

"Ally?" Austin asks again, his voice cracking. She sits beside the door. She can hear his tears. "Fucking hell, Ally, open the goddamn door. I wanna talk to you."

Silent tears carve their way down her face. _I'm sorry, Austin. I can't. The voice tells me not to. I can't answer it. I can't go back to that day._

_I changed my mind, _the voice says. _Answer it._

She stands up and opens the door. God, he looks like a wreck. She guesses she looks the same.

"Oh my god, Ally. You're okay. You're okay. I thought you killed yourself." Austin says, rushing forward to hug her.

"I would never," she whispers, looking down.

_What the fuck? You little bitch. You're gonna cut hard tonight for that._

"A-Ally, you just talked. You just talked!" Austin says, his eyes wide.

"I know..."

_Stop it. I will make you kill yourself, hear me? I'll force you to._

"Why haven't you talked before?" Austin asks, still hugging her on her doorstep. Outside, a man from across the street looks curiously over at them.

"The voice told me not to." Ally responds quietly. "It told me it would take me back to that day. I didn't like that day, Austin. That day is why I'm like this."

"What happened?" He asks, leading her inside. "Tell me. You can trust me."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"C'mon, Als. The only way to stop it from haunting you is to let it go."

"Do I have to?"

"If you want to get better."

"But - "

"No buts. Talk."

_Don't do it. Don't you fucking dare._

She does it.


End file.
